Substitute Guest (17 page)

Alan had a quick passing shade of sadness. When the storm cleared this pleasant interval would be over and he would have to move on. But he would not think of that. He would just enjoy every minute while it lasted.

So they settled down around the tables, turning over and sorting the colored bits of polished wood and parceling them out, a color to a person.

Daryl was sitting next to Alan, and all the blue sky was handed over to them. They worked away together, Daryl showing Alan how to hunt for outside edges, and how to tell by the grain of the wood which pieces would be top and which side. They talked about the quaint shapes into which the pieces were cut. Alan was new at them. He hadn’t had much time for such things since the days of his childhood when jigsaw puzzles were scarce and expensive.

“Am I to believe that this jumble of pieces will eventually become a picture?” he asked comically, gazing hopelessly at the clutter on the table.

“Of course,” said Daryl enthusiastically. “It does look hopeless though, doesn’t it? But you’ll see it will come out beautifully when it is done. The name says it is a picture of Washington at Valley Forge. It seems just like the Bible.”

Alan looked up in astonishment.

“Like the Bible? Well, that’s one on me, young lady. Since when was Washington a Bible character?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” Daryl said, giggling. “I mean that sometimes, at first reading, the Bible does seem like a jumble of unrelated writings, especially to an unbeliever. But if you believe it is the Word of God, and so have patience to go on and learn how to divide it and put it together, you soon see that each part fits into the rest without discord or contradiction and the whole presents a perfect portrait.”

Alan had stopped working and was watching Daryl intently, obviously amazed.

“Well, that’s about the most surprising statement I ever heard!” he said. “It’s rather sweeping, too, and yet you speak with conviction. May I ask where you got this information?”

Lance glanced up quickly, alert to catch any note of scorn on his new friend’s face, hoping it was not there. He was relieved to see only genuine interest and thoughtfulness in Alan’s face.

“In the Bible itself, of course,” said Daryl. “But not all by myself. We had a wonderful teacher before we went to college. And there are textbooks to help you study. I have one we studied if you would like to see it. But I do think that if a person went to the Bible patiently and believingly, he would soon be convinced, even without a teacher, that it is the Word of God.”

“Yes,
believingly!”
said Lance suddenly, as he swung a finished tree across the table and slid it into place in the sky Alan was working on. “That is the point—believingly!”

Alan looked up again astonished, noting that Lance evidently held the same view as his sister. Was it the Bible, then, that made these people so different from others he knew?

“Well, that sounds interesting to me,” said Alan seriously. “I’d like to see that textbook sometime. It would be worth a great deal to me to know without a doubt what you seem to know.”

Then suddenly he held up a little piece of puzzle and said half jokingly, “Now here, for instance, is a fish! Am I to suppose that this picture we are doing contains a portrait of Jonah entering the whale?”

They all laughed, but Daryl suddenly sobered.

“There!” she said. “That’s just what I’ve been trying to tell you. You think that’s a fish, but it’s only the shape of a fish. See where it fits? Right there in that pink cloud at your left. It isn’t a fish at all; it’s just a part of the highlight on a cloud. And that’s just the way people make mistakes when they read the Bible. They pick a verse out from its context and go out and say the Bible says so and so, and that that is a contradiction of something else it says. But if you keep the verse in its setting, and compare it with others, you see what it really did mean. Look at your fish now in its own place. See! The fish itself, though still a fish, is no longer important as a fish. It is lost sight of as you look at the picture as a whole.”

“Well, that’s astonishing!” said Alan, staring at the fish, which had taken its place in a cloud.

“Well, if this picture we’re doing is going to turn out to be a picture of George Washington, who then is the Bible a portrait of?”

He asked the question almost idly, hardly expecting a definite answer.

“The Lord Jesus Christ!” answered Daryl reverently, and a little hush fell on the group.

“Wonderful!” said the young man gravely. “I never thought of the Bible as that.”

After an instant Daryl went on quietly.

“And it is marvelous how every story and even every Jewish sacrifice and ceremony is needed to make it a complete picture of Him! Take that incident of Jonah, for instance. Did you know that it is referred to by Christ in the New Testament and used to present a picture of His death and resurrection? He said that no sign that He was the Messiah would be given to unbelievers except the sign of Jonah.”

Daryl stopped breathless, suddenly embarrassed that she had done so much of the talking. But Alan kept on with questions for some time, Daryl giving keen answers that amazed him.

“Well, perhaps I begin to see,” he said at last, holding up two small pieces of the puzzle. “Here for instance are a cat and a fiddle. I in my uninstructed state would naturally suppose that our whole picture was to illustrate ‘Hey-diddle-diddle, the cat and the fiddle,’ and I would immediately begin to look around for a cow and a moon to finish it with; but since according to you the things in the Bible that sound like nonsense to the uninitiated are heavenly truths, I begin to grasp the idea. Look here!”

He fitted the fiddle neatly into a delicate green tree, and found a place for his cat right in the middle of another cloud.

“An A plus for you, Johnny, you’re learning fast!” Daryl said with a laugh.

“It’s due to my excellent teaching!” Alan bowed dramatically.

They all laughed with Alan, but he soon grew serious again.

“Go on, please! I want to hear more,” he said.

“Oh, you should ask my brother about it,” said Daryl, suddenly flushing consciously as she realized that the room was very still, and everybody had stopped talking but herself and Alan. “Lance has been to a wonderful seminary where they make a specialty of studying these things. He can tell you all about it much better than I can.”

Alan looked at Lance surprised.

“You don’t say! Are you getting ready to be a clergyman, Lance?”

Lance looked up smiling.

“Oh no,” he said, “I’m just getting ready to be a Christian farmer, like Dad. But I want to be able to give my Christian testimony in the very best way, and I think every Christian should understand his Bible, and be ready to tell anyone how to be saved.”

“But he does preach, though,” said Ruth shyly, looking at Lance with proud eyes. “He preaches in the mission in Collamer every Sunday night.”

“Just talk,” said Lance crisply. “Say, you folks are getting your sky done in great shape, aren’t you?”

“I want to hear you,” said Alan, studying the strong young face across the table from him. “I’m coming to hear you soon. And I want to talk with you more about this Bible. It sounds interesting.”

“It is,” said Lance quickly, “the most interesting study in the world. Say, Daryl, how about a little food? Weren’t there some doughnuts? I seem to forget all about that turkey we had this afternoon.”

“Yes, I’ll get some,” said Daryl, getting up, and Alan promptly rose to follow her.

“Get some apples, too,” called Mother Devereaux. “And Father, where are the butternuts?”

“Yes, I’ll get those. I cracked a lot of them yesterday.” And he, too, rose and went to find his big wooden bowl of butternuts.

Daryl filled a platter with big, sugary doughnuts and got out some plates and napkins.

“The apples are down in the cellar. I won’t be a minute,” she explained to Alan. “You can carry in the plates.”

“Oh, but I’m coming down with you. I’m sure I can get the apples if you will tell me where to find them.” And he smilingly possessed himself of the willow basket she had picked up from the pantry shelf.

Daryl snapped the cellar light on, and they went down into the wide, clean space that was as tidy and uncluttered as if it were a parlor. Alan saw the rows of shelves filled with canned fruit and vegetables, the bin of potatoes, and barrels of apples—Northern Spy, Grimes Golden, Baldwin. Daryl pointed them all out.

“Why, you could stand a regular siege if you had to with all these stores,” he said, looking around him in admiration. “I certainly picked my place to get stranded!”

Daryl smiled up at him happily, and for the moment the shadow seemed to be gone from her eyes. She was enjoying the evening as much as he was! A gladness went though him that was new and pleasant.

They had filled their basket and were turning to go back to the foot of the stairs, when Father Devereaux, returning through the dim kitchen, noticed the crack of light from the half-open cellar door and stopped in passing to snap it off, thinking somebody had forgotten it.

“Oh!” giggled Daryl. “They don’t know we’re down here! Wait, I’ll turn it on again. There’s a switch at the foot of the stairs. Come on, I’ll guide you.”

She caught his hand and turned swiftly to take a shortcut to the stairs, forgetting that Lance the day before had brought down a crate of oranges just arrived from Florida and set them across a couple of substantial beams to keep them from contact with the floor. Suddenly she pitched forward, her hands outspread widely. And Alan, the apples rolling in every direction, groped wildly for her and lifted her in his arms, unconsciously drawing her close and putting his face down to hers.

“Oh, my dear!” he said, and knew not what he had said. “Are you hurt?”

Daryl, startled and shaken, could scarcely get her breath to reply. So there he stood in the dark with her in his arms, suddenly conscious that she was very sweet and precious.

“Are you hurt?” he asked again more anxiously, and his lips touched her forehead. He felt her soft hair in his face, and the dearness of it thrilled him.

And Daryl, hearing those words
my dear
in her ear lay still in wonder for just an instant, filled with a sweet bliss. It seemed that something wonderful, something holy and beautiful, had come upon them and put both their hearts in a joyous tumult. For just that little space of time while the darkness lasted it seemed that heaven had come down to them. As if they scarcely dared breathe lest they would interrupt the precious moment.

Then suddenly the shades of two voices on the telephone swept harshly into their consciousness, the echoes of Demeter Cass’s possessive demands, and that drunken voice calling out “Darling!”

And just then Father Devereaux, going into the living room with the butternuts, discovered their absence and hurried back to correct his error by snapping on the light.

The lamp just over their heads blazed forth garishly, even as those ghostly voices on the wire rang in their ears, and they came to themselves suddenly.

Daryl gave a little gasp and tried to laugh.

“Oh, I’m quite all right,” she burbled.

He set her down gently, slowly, reluctant to give her up, his arm still lingering around her supportingly.

“You are sure?” he said, and looked at her earnestly. He had a sudden longing to fold her in his arms again and lay his lips upon hers. Instead he stooped and began to pick up the apples. And Daryl helped too. Once or twice they reached for the same apple there in the shadows of the cellar floor, and their hands touched. They laughed like children as they scrambled after one that rolled away from before their feet until at last they had them all and started for the stairs, Alan reaching for her hand and holding it in a warm clasp.

“I’ll have to hold on to you,” he laughed. “I can’t have you falling again.”

She let her hand lie in his for the moment until they reached the stairs and went up slowly, keeping step. Daryl reproached herself for the thrill that his touch gave her. He meant nothing by it of course but common courtesy. He was just solicitous because she had fallen, as any gentleman would have been, and that “Oh, my dear!” was just a frightened exclamation when he thought she was really hurt. It didn’t mean a thing! Look at the way people called each other darling today when they were just common acquaintances. What was she to make so much of all this? She, who had looked forward to Harold’s coming, to imagine things like this! Her nerves had been shaken, that was all, by that sharp blow across her shins when she fell. It had unnerved her, made her hysterical. It was nothing more of course. Alan Monteith belonged to Demeter Cass, or at least her voice had made it seem that way; and she at least for the present, was somewhat obligated to be considering Harold Warner and her relation to him. This sweet strange thing that had come to her down there in the cellar was a figment of her excited imagination. It hadn’t happened! It was only in her thoughts. It wasn’t real at all, and she would not think of it again. Like an evil thought she would stamp it out and put it from her.

They arrived at the head of the stairs, still hand in hand. Daryl snapped the light out and closed the door behind them. Then Alan turned and looked frankly in her eyes, as if he was challenging her to recognize what had just come to them. After that deep look he softly pressed her fingers; then, carrying the apples, he followed her into the living room.

Daryl’s cheeks were bright, and her eyes a little starry in spite of her best efforts. She meant to take herself in hand at once, but she could not quickly put away the memory of those strong fingers clasping hers.

Daryl tried to cover her tumult with joking her father for turning the light out on them, and they settled down to their jigsaw puzzle again, everybody eating apples and nuts and doughnuts.

But Alan as he worked silently was casting furtive glances at Daryl, noticing the lovely color in her cheeks and the soft hair disarranged over her forehead, framing her face so sweetly.

And then, suddenly, the doorbell pealed out in several loud rings, one upon the other, and the knocker began to clatter as if the visitor couldn’t depend upon just one summons.